


X-XX-XXXX

by greel



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Danny's whatever, Drew's divorced, M/M, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greel/pseuds/greel
Summary: Literally inspired by the basic tenets of home safety, as follows: "Leaving the kitchen or living room light on will help provide the illusion that someone is home, even when you’re not."
Relationships: Danny Gonzalez/Drew Gooden
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	X-XX-XXXX

Pitch black outside,

every window open,

every light on in the house.

Middle of summer, middle of the night, and the air conditioning’s on.

Danny’s quiet from the neck up. The keys in his pocket are jangling. He’s got his left leg jumping up and down, denim whispering against the couch, bright-white socks hitting something in Morse code against the wood floor.

Feels a lot like high school. Easy to imagine that you’ve known each other forever, that you know everything there is to know about him. Something about the all-wrong brightness of the lights.

“I’m – done, are you?” He asks eventually with businesslike politeness. Like he’s not high. Like he’s suddenly decided to be an adult. In that light, it’s extra ridiculous that you’ve been thinking of yourself at 16, writing him into your high school experience, wondering. It’s a lot to hold in your brain at once.

“Yeah. I can be done.” You roll your head to the side, looking away from him, then roll it back to find he’s staring at you, a shocking red steak blooming high over his cheeks. He asks if you’re good. You’re feeling self-conscious of your lips, your teeth, your tongue. “I used to smoke basically every night,” you say around your traitorous teeth. “For a while.”

(This is a lie. You smoked much more than that.)

“After Amanda,” he supplies directionlessly, taking his glasses off and moving to clean them on the hem of his shirt.

Again: “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

The weight of it is uncomfortable between you. You’re a 26-year-old divorcé. He’s been with the same girl since high school. Fucking high school again.

In slow motion, you realize you’ve made eye contact too long; that you wouldn’t do this when you’re sober. Before this can seem like bad news, he’s smiling, too. The laugh that is bubbling up your throat pops out between Danny’s teeth. Your hand is on his arm. When the fuck did that happen? You snatch it away. He doesn’t seem to have noticed.

His mouth is so fucking red.

“Do you ever–” you start, and thank Christ, Danny starts talking at the same time: “What happened?”

You think about it. “I don’t know,” you say, and realize after a moment that it’s actually true. “Probably a few things. It wasn’t – we still talk. You know we still talk.”

“For sure,” he says earnestly, looking at you sort of unfocused, glasses forgotten in his hand. “It wasn’t – you said before – about kids?”

You did say that, didn’t you. And it sort of was. But this is probably an easy out, so you nod, not really sure what to add. His eyes keep you pinned for a few long seconds, but then he flicks his gaze up and exhales.

“Sorry.”

“I’m not, like, miserable,” you find it necessary to clarify. “I’m fine.”

“For sure,” he echoes. He sounds a lot like he doesn’t believe you.

Cricket noises beyond the windows are wandering in from all sides. Danny’s still pounding his leg up and down like it’s his job.

“Are _you_ okay?” You try, not knowing exactly what you’re fishing for.

He seems to remember his glasses and clacks them down on the floor next to his feet. He scrubs his eyes with his hands and says “I’m fine, dude. What do you want to do?”

_This_ , you think but do not say.

His mouth is so _fucking_ red.

At your silence, he makes a dramatic point of adjusting his whole body against the couch to stare at you, squeaking the leather. Whether it’s supposed to or not, it startles a laugh out of you. He visibly lights up and you don’t know, can’t tell what your own thoughts are, but you’re grinning again. In the same second, you both realize that you’re not going to talk about anything serious; at least, not any more serious than the ground you just tiptoed over.

Your face is on fire as you lean forward to fuck with the lighter, and he watches you approvingly, distantly, and maybe it’s worth something that he hasn’t known you since high school.

You can tell him whatever you want.

You can be whoever you want.

A noticeable weight shivers out of the room, out of the windows, over the roof of the house and over the lawn, down the driveway, into the street.

Out to the crickets,

into the wind,

borne along to the ocean,

up into the stars,

where your shining sentry on a hill is just another burning ball of fire.

\------


End file.
